Bahar watched him go, realizing he was almost running away. She stood by the table, staring at the untouched plates, and her heart clenched painfully. She sighed softly and slowly went upstairs after him.

Evren had taken off his watch, placed it on the nightstand, and was sitting on the bed. Bahar closed the door behind her and looked at him. He was still frowning, his gaze distant. She came closer and sat down beside him, her shoulder brushing against his, nudging him gently.

— Evren, Cem can’t handle this on his own, — she began quietly, bringing him back to the subject again, carefully avoiding the untouched dinner and the table downstairs. — He spends all his time alone, in your apartment.

Bahar tried to keep her voice soft, without pressing, without preaching. She just sat there next to him, both of them staring at the wardrobe doors, where painted flowers seemed to bloom.

— Let him think, — Evren replied reluctantly. — It’ll do him good.

Bahar almost smiled. She laid her hand on his and squeezed it.

— Do you really believe he’ll be thinking? — she asked, placing his hand on her knee. — He’ll be angry instead, — she glanced at his profile, — and that anger will only destroy him.

Evren kept frowning, his brows lowering and lifting again.

— So what? — he shrugged. — What do you suggest?

— He needs something to do, — she sighed. — Anything.

— Like what? — he turned to her. — And who would take him? You know the shadow that follows him now. Everyone will know what he did.

Bahar held his gaze.

— That’s not a brand for life, — she lifted her hand and gently traced his brows with her fingertips, as if asking him to ease up. — There are recommendations, — she whispered, then froze.

Evren immediately stiffened. His gaze turned sharp, hard.

— No, — he said firmly. — No!

— Fine, — Bahar nodded. — Then I can.

Evren jumped up, paced the room, then came back and stopped in front of her.

— Don’t even think about it! — he clenched his fists. — I won’t allow it. Don’t you dare!

She looked up at him calmly, though discomfort flickered in her chest. He caught the pain and faint disappointment in her eyes. Then Bahar took his hand and pulled him closer, and he sat back down beside her, this time on the other side. Once more, their shoulders touched, once more they stared at the painted flowers.

— Then you go, — she broke the silence at last. — Go yourself, for Cem’s sake.

— And you wouldn’t mind, — his voice cracked, — if I saw her, if I met with her?

Bahar lowered her head, her shoulders trembling slightly. She didn’t answer, just stared down.

— I don’t have to keep pulling him out, — he burst out angrily. — Let him figure it out! Let him decide what he wants!

— You don’t have to, — she agreed softly. — But he’s your brother, — she reminded him. — Sometimes all it takes is a little push, — she kept her tone gentle, careful not to sound like she was lecturing. — Not an order, not pressure, just direction. If recommendations are needed, — she nodded, — let them come from her, — she leaned toward him slightly, pressing her chest to his shoulder, brushing her fingers through his hair.

Evren turned sharply, irritation flashing in his eyes before it shifted into challenge.

— You’re seriously willing to send me to her? — She didn’t look away, despite his tone.

— This is for Cem. Not for you. Not for her, — her voice faltered just a little.

— So you want her to believe she has a chance again, — he probed, eyes searching hers. — That wouldn’t bother you? Wouldn’t hurt you?

Bahar froze, her eyes widening, though she fought to keep calm.

— I never said that, — she whispered, not realizing her voice was trembling.

— Or maybe you just want to test if there was ever anything between us, — his look carried both anger and vulnerability.

Bahar turned her gaze away.

— I don’t like the past coming back into this house, — she tried to hide behind a steady tone.

— So you are jealous, — he almost smirked. — What if Naz is still waiting for me, still hoping?

It slipped out impulsively. She knew he was teasing, yet Bahar flushed, a shiver running through her body. Her hand slowly slid onto his shoulder.

— Don’t joke like that, — she pressed against him. — I just… I don’t want to lose you.

— I’m sorry, — he faltered at her reaction. — I shouldn’t have. I only wanted to hear you say you love me too.

— Jealousy is a luxury, — her voice grew husky, though her hand stayed where it was. — I had a husband who lived two lives for sixteen years. Do you really think I care about that anymore? — he heard the pain in her voice. — Do you really think I want to go through that again?

Evren froze. His smirk vanished. Gently, he touched her cheek, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She was silent, her lips trembling. He reached for her hand, but she drew back slightly, and it stung him.

— Bahar, — he whispered, gazing into her eyes before pressing his cheek to hers. — I’m not Timur. I won’t live a double life.

She said nothing, but he could see it all in her eyes — doubt, pain, the desperate wish to believe him. He saw it and pulled her into a firmer embrace, ignoring her flinch, ignoring her hand pushing weakly at his shoulder, leaning in closer.

— Though… I have to admit, I like it when you’re jealous, — he murmured into her ear. — It means I matter to you, — he nuzzled against her cheek.

Bahar felt a mix of anger and tenderness. She pushed him back with her chest, but not forcefully, more playfully.

— You’re impossible, — her fingers brushed at the corners of her eyes, wiping away the tears. — You’re making fun of my wounds.

— I’m healing them, — his lips brushed her cheek, her temple, her forehead. — In my own way, — he whispered.

She almost smiled, though her eyes still glistened with tears. Evren buried his face in her neck, and for a while the only sound in the room was their breathing.

— Trust me, — he whispered, — just once, completely.

Bahar seemed to melt in his arms, trying to ignore the pain in her back and shoulders.

— That’s the hardest thing, — she admitted.

Evren tightened his embrace, stealing a sigh from her lips.

— And for me, it’s the most important. I just… I’m afraid. Afraid I’ll lose you again, — he breathed.

Bahar pressed her face into his shoulder.

— I’m afraid of losing you too, — she whispered. — Every minute.

He held her even tighter.

— I’ll end this myself, — Evren exhaled. — For Cem. I have to do it for my brother.

Her fingers clutched at his shirt. She felt as if she had forced him, pushed him into it. Bahar tried to trust him, but she couldn’t shake the anxiety.

— No one touched the dinner, — he said quietly. — As if none of it mattered, — he shrugged.

Bahar hugged him at once, holding him close.

— Today was just a hard day, — she whispered. — I’ll try to gather everyone tomorrow.

— No, — Evren cut her off too quickly. — I don’t need persuasion.

He turned, his gaze lingering on her eyes.

— I’ll bring our dinner here, — she whispered, her fingers once again brushing over his brows, smoothing them until he had to stop frowning.

She looked at him with such love, such desperate longing to salvage something from this evening.

— I don’t want to eat, — Evren refused with his usual stubbornness.

Bahar smiled.

— But I do, — she tapped her fingers on his shoulder. — Professor, surely you won’t let me go hungry? — she teased, and his eyes lit up at once.

He finally laughed, his expression softening, warmth spreading in his gaze.

— So you admit I’m your doctor? — he asked, glancing at her lips.

Bahar instantly jumped off the bed and moved a safe distance away.

— As my mother said, it’s still unclear who’s the real professor here. And since you’re supposed to listen to your doctor, and I am the doctor, — she sighed, — you should rest for a bit, and I’ll go check on Umay, all right? — she blew him a kiss and slipped out of the bedroom.

***

Bahar slowly went upstairs and knocked softly on the door.

— May I? — she whispered.

No answer came, so she pushed the door open slightly and saw Umay. Her daughter was sitting on the bed, knees drawn to her chest, the lamp casting a pale light on her profile. She wasn’t crying, but her face was frozen in worry.

Bahar came closer and sat down beside her. For a few seconds they stayed silent.

— I’m scared, Mom, — Umay whispered so quietly it was almost inaudible.

A sharp pain gripped Bahar’s chest, her hand instinctively pressing against it as she turned to her daughter. She understood perfectly — for Umay, everything was for the first time: the first feeling, the first attachment, the first heartbreak. Cem was still part of the family, but not hers anymore. She didn’t yet know how to separate love from pain, and so every glance of his wounded her more than she could admit. Her first love was an unhappy one, and the wound was still raw.

— What are you afraid of, my darling? — Bahar asked gently.

— That you’ll leave, — Umay answered without looking at her. — Like Dad. You’re always there for everyone… for your patients, for your brother, for Evren. I don’t know where I fit in for you.

Her words were spoken so quietly, and that made them cut even deeper. Bahar silently reached out and embraced her daughter. At first, Umay stayed still, letting herself be held, then leaned against her shoulder.

— I’m here with you, — Bahar buried her face in her daughter’s hair. — I’m not going anywhere.

— But what if Evren… what if he wants a child with you? — Umay looked at her. — Are you sure you’re okay? Has he examined you?

Listening to her daughter, Bahar felt a pang of shame. It seemed unfair — she, a grown woman, allowing herself new happiness while her daughter was only just learning to endure her first loss. Could she really rejoice in Evren, when Umay beside her was losing faith in love? Bahar hugged her even tighter. Her eyes filled with tears, but her voice stayed steady.

— I’m fine, — she said. — I know my limits. And Evren knows them too. Together we’ll manage everything, do you hear me? You just have to trust us.

Umay lifted her head, meeting her mother’s eyes.

— And this is happiness, Mom? — she asked. — You love him, he wants a child, and at the same time he knows how dangerous it is for you… So where’s the happiness in that, Mom? Is that really love? When it hurts so much, when it’s so frightening?

Bahar knew her children needed to see that love could be different. Real. Loyal. Not like her marriage with Timur, not like Umay’s disappointment with Cem. She felt that her happiness with Evren had to become proof for her daughter that love truly existed.

— I love him, — Bahar smiled. — And I want to be happy, — she whispered. — I want you to be by my side, to understand that my happiness is not instead of you. It’s with you. With you and with Evren.

Her feelings grew more tangled: guilt and tenderness, fear and hope. She stood at a crossroads — between her woman’s love and her role as a mother. But for the first time in years, she allowed herself to think not only of fears, but of the truth: that she also had the right to happiness. Even if her daughter was only just learning to believe in it.

Umay gave a small sob, but no tears came. She leaned against her mother again. For a few seconds they sat in silence, listening to each other’s breathing.

— I want you to be happy, Mom, — Umay whispered. — Just promise we won’t lose you.

— I promise, — Bahar kissed her daughter’s hair and closed her eyes.

— And what if I never love again? — Umay asked quietly.

Bahar shuddered. She stroked her daughter’s hair and closed her eyes for a moment.

— Sometimes it feels that way… after pain, — she whispered. — It feels like everything’s over, like the heart is shut. But it knows how to heal, my darling. Believe me, — Umay looked at her, — your heart will open again.

— And what if it doesn’t? — she resisted. — What if I’m always afraid?

— Then you’ll love more carefully, — Bahar smoothed her hair, — but that’s still love. It always comes differently than we expect.

The door opened, and Parla walked in. She sat quietly on the edge of the bed, saying nothing, just looking at her sister and at Bahar.

— I envy you, Mom, — Umay admitted. — You’re brave. You can love again, and I can’t even imagine it.

— I was afraid too. I thought my heart would never wake again, — Bahar drew in a breath and then slowly let it out. — But Evren… he was there. And I dared.

— What if it doesn’t happen for us? — Parla suddenly asked in a small voice.

Bahar smiled — tenderly, but with sadness.

— We were never taught how to love, — she confessed, reaching for Parla, who moved closer. Bahar wrapped her arms around her as well. — We’re learning it ourselves. Learning how to show it. We make mistakes, we’re afraid… but still we go on.

Parla rested her head on Bahar’s shoulder.

— Then we’ll learn together, — Bahar whispered suddenly. — Me, you… and maybe your future children. So they’ll know from the start that love must be shown, not hidden. — Her gaze froze, something shifting deep inside her.

Umay turned and pressed her face into her mother’s shoulder.

— Mom… do you know how to show love? — Umay asked suddenly.

Bahar froze. For the first time she realized how rarely she allowed herself simple gestures — without a reason, without a “should.” She knew how to love her children, how to take care of them… but she had forgotten how to show love to a man. Timur had never needed it, and over time she had forgotten how vital it was. And now it mattered deeply for Evren. Her eyes flicked toward the door.

— Maybe you’re right…, — Bahar sighed. — I’ve grown so used to holding it all inside. I was afraid to show it. Maybe I’ve already forgotten how to love openly? — it sounded almost like she was asking herself.

— You can, — Umay murmured. — You just hide it. — Then she added quickly: — I don’t remember Dad ever hugging you. I don’t remember you kissing, or going anywhere together… not even once.

Parla nodded quietly, not interfering, just listening.

— It was different for us…, — was all Bahar managed to say.

— So love fades with time? Then why love at all? — Umay returned to her first question.

Bahar shut her eyes, her fingers tightening on her knees.

— It doesn’t fade…, — her voice was hoarse. — If it’s real, it stays. But if you don’t care for it, if you don’t show it — then it hides. And if you hide it too deep, it seems like it’s gone. — Bahar paused, staring ahead. She was silent for a long while, then finally said: — Not because love disappears. But because people forget to show it.

Umay reached out and squeezed Bahar’s hand. Parla hugged them both even tighter.

— That’s how it should be — talking, holding hands, embracing. Even when you’re afraid, — tears welled in Bahar’s eyes.

And suddenly she felt a powerful urge to go back down to the bedroom and hold Evren tightly, kiss him, tell him how much she loved him…

***

He loved her deeply, but at that moment he wanted to be alone for a while. Seizing the chance, Reha squeezed her hand and said:

— Gülçiçek, my dear, buy me some water, — he asked with a smile. — But only the kind I like. You know which one.

She nodded with a smile, fully aware he wasn’t really asking for water, but for a few minutes of silence. Still, she picked up her purse and left.

The moment the door closed, Reha reached for the tablet on the nightstand. His fingers trembled, but with practiced ease he opened the patient list. A quick scan down the lines, and then he froze. His heart clenched and beat harder, forcing him to press a hand to his chest.

Female, 29 years old. Liver transplant 18 months ago. Pregnancy, 24 weeks. Cardiac arrest. ICU. Prognosis — induced labor.

Reha held his breath. He gripped the tablet as if he could erase what he had just read, then quickly switched off the screen. Closing his eyes, he leaned back. Too much pain in those lines, too familiar.

The door opened. He quickly slid the tablet back onto the nightstand and covered it with a newspaper. Gülçiçek entered, carrying a glass bottle of water. She smiled, but he noticed at once that something troubled her. She was unusually quiet, a little pensive. Without a word, she opened the cap, poured the water into a glass, drew a chair closer, adjusted the blanket — gestures so natural it seemed she had been doing them her whole life.

— What’s wrong? — he asked softly, lifting his head. — You’re not really here with me.

She sighed, twisting the bottle cap in her fingers for a long time.

— Reha… — she began quietly, almost in a whisper. — Can Bahar… — her eyes shimmered with worry, — … can she have another baby? Give birth again?

He paled, clutching her hand.

— Gülçiçek… all we can do is trust, — he breathed. — And not everything depends on medicine, — his voice was steady, but she knew him well enough to hear the anxiety beneath it. — What matters most is that she has the strength to live. The rest… life will decide. Bahar knows her body better than anyone. And Evren… he’ll never allow her life to be put at risk. — He fell silent.

— I just want her to be happy, — Gülçiçek lowered her head, hiding her tears.

He stroked her hand, forcing his fingers not to tremble.

— She already has you, — he whispered. — She has us. The rest is not ours to decide.

He spoke with conviction, but only for her sake. Inside, he couldn’t shake the patient’s case from his mind. That short line in the tablet, and her question, left a heavy weight on his heart.

— Don’t torment yourself with this, — he pleaded. — All we can do is love, stay close. Sometimes that matters more than any prognosis.

Gülçiçek nodded, her smile warming just a little, though her hand remained cold. Reha sat up and drew her into his arms, not allowing even a shadow of worry to linger in her gaze…

***

She lingered by her bedroom door… then walked past it. Bahar went downstairs and stopped by the table. Dinner remained untouched. She looked at the neatly arranged plates, the folded napkins, and her hand trembled. Slowly, she began clearing everything away. Each movement was quiet, almost soundless; sometimes she paused, listening… but no, the house seemed to have sunk into silence, and she was afraid to break it with the accidental clink of dishes.

— I’ll help, — Yusuf’s voice reached her, and she turned to him.

He didn’t ask anything, just took a dish and carried it into the kitchen. There was no rush in their movements; they worked in sync, as if they had always done this together.

— Thank you, — Bahar wiped her hands on a towel and turned on the stove.

Yusuf only nodded. He watched her brew coffee, take something from the fridge, place it carefully on a tray. He realized then that Bahar was preparing dinner… dinner for two.

— Bahar, — he made her look at him. — You… — Yusuf hesitated, her brows lifting slightly, — you’re not going to become our patient, are you? — he asked very carefully.

Despite his tact, the question sounded too direct, too loud.

— I’ve already been Evren’s patient twice, — she smiled. — There definitely won’t be a third time.

Yusuf nodded, lowering his gaze, thinking she wouldn’t notice the worry in his eyes.

— We just have to trust, — she whispered. — And everything will be all right.

Her words carried such quiet certainty that for a moment the house itself felt warmer.

Bahar placed two cups on the tray, a small coffee pot, a plate of sliced meats and cheese, another with vegetables, fruit, bread, butter. Her gestures were practiced, as though she did this every evening, though tonight she moved a little slower than usual. She set everything neatly, then exhaled.

— And now — rest, — she smiled. — Tomorrow will be a hard day.

— A heavy one, — Yusuf agreed, taking the tray.

— I’ll manage, — she said, though she let him help.

They went upstairs together.

— Coffee at night? — Yusuf asked, nodding toward the small pot, as if to check if it was really appropriate at this hour.

Bahar just shook her head lightly, waving a hand. She remembered how Evren had forbidden her to drink coffee the night before — but tonight, in the bedroom, he wouldn’t dare, she thought with a small smile.

— It’s necessary, — she replied.

Yusuf shrugged, stopping at the door.

— You know, — he said as he handed her the tray, — I never imagined there would be so many simple things in a doctor’s house. Dinner, coffee… care. You’re always thinking of others.

Bahar looked at him gently, realizing how much he lacked warmth and affection.

— That’s how it should be. A doctor can’t endure without it. But… — she hugged the tray closer to herself, — sometimes it’s important that someone thinks of me, too.

Yusuf nodded, his gaze turning very serious. He pressed the handle, and Bahar nudged the door open with her shoulder. As soon as she entered, Yusuf closed the door behind her. He could still feel the aroma of coffee, and he caught a glimpse of the desk lamp’s glow. He smiled unconsciously. Somehow, all of it felt like a quiet promise — that tonight at least someone would have dinner, that someone would care for someone else…

***

The room was wrapped in soft twilight. Evren lay on the bed, arms folded behind his head, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Bahar set the tray on the dresser and turned. She waited for him to get up, to come to her, but he didn’t move.

— Evren, — she called softly, but he didn’t react.

She bit her lip, holding back a smile, and came closer. Leaning down, she brushed her lips against his cheek, ran her hand through his hair, and his eyes closed involuntarily. Bahar smiled.

— Evren, come on, — she whispered, standing beside the bed.

— I don’t want to, — he muttered, opening his eyes.

Bahar sighed and sat down next to him. Evren stared at the ceiling again. She adjusted his T-shirt, left her hand resting on his shoulder — no reaction. Her fingertips barely touched his arm, tracing long lines from elbow to wrist. His body betrayed him, shivering, goosebumps rising on his skin, yet still he held himself back.

— Stubborn as a boy, — she breathed, leaning down to kiss his cheek before standing up.

Bahar circled the bed. Her eyes fell on the side table, cluttered with his things — books, a notebook, computer, magazines. She sighed, stepped toward the dresser, and bumped her shin on a suitcase.

— Ouch, — slipped from her lips as she grabbed her leg.

She bent down slightly, clutching her shin, staring at the large open suitcase lying in the middle of the room. Trousers draped over a chair, a shirt tossed carelessly on the floor… they had packed in haste that morning, and that evening she hadn’t rushed home. Now her bedroom had turned into chaos. Something had to be done.

Almost without thinking, she shoved the clothes inside, snapped the lid shut. The bed creaked behind her. Bahar zipped the suitcase and pulled it with her.

— What are you doing? — his hoarse voice came from behind.

She turned, puzzled by his question, confusion flashing in her eyes.

— Have you had enough of me already? — he stepped closer. — Do you want to throw me out? — Anger flared in his voice, but panic flickered in his eyes.

At first, she was startled, then realized what he meant. Her lips twitched, but she held back the laughter. Bahar turned away and rolled the suitcase with her.

Evren stared at her with fear and anger mingled — was she really going to send him away? He was ready to grab his things and leave himself… until he noticed she walked past the door and headed for the wardrobe.

Bahar wheeled the suitcase inside, opened the closet. She hesitated for a moment, then shifted her own clothes aside, freeing up drawers and shelves. She folded his clothes neatly, laid them in place, even made a small pile to iron later.

Evren stood in the doorway, watching her measured movements, listening to the soft rustle of fabric, unable to take his eyes off her. Bahar straightened, surveying the shelves, the drawer, then frowned at the small pile of underwear — he had brought very few things.

She didn’t notice him until his hand slipped around her waist and his lips brushed her neck. She exhaled, closing her eyes. Evren pulled her closer, resting his chin on her shoulder, arms circling her waist. She froze, bracing for him to squeeze her tightly, ready to hide the pain from him… but he only held her gently.

— Did my suitcase bother you? — his warm breath caressed her neck.

— Were you afraid I’d had enough of you? — she leaned her head back, pressing her back against him.

— Don’t even joke about that, — he tensed immediately.

— So it’s all right for you, but not for me? — she asked.

His arms tightened around her.

— So you chose dinner first? — his tone softened.

Her brows arched slightly.

— I don’t know, — she shrugged. — You only keep promising.

Her hands slid down to his, but before she could draw a breath, he spun her around sharply and captured her lips. The kiss was quick, hungry, rough… and yet it carried a sense of relief.

Her hands rested on his shoulders, clinging to him, then she pulled back just a little.

— Now we can have dinner, — she whispered, meeting his eyes.

— Dinner after a kiss? — he asked, holding her gaze.

— Only that way, — she replied, a spark of playfulness in her smile.

Evren let her go, though not right away. His hands lingered at her waist before he finally exhaled and stepped back.

— Go on, I’ll just change, — she smiled, closing the wardrobe door.

— I can help, — he was already ready to move toward her.

— I’ll manage, — she stopped him with her hand. — Pour the coffee for now, please.

Evren shook his head as if he didn’t understand, but still turned and left. Bahar exhaled. She had managed to hide the bruises for now, but the evening was only beginning.

She chose a long, thin robe, more like a man’s shirt. Making sure Evren wasn’t watching, she quickly slipped out of her clothes and dove into the robe, tying a tight knot at her waist.

— Bahar, — impatience rang in his voice, and she knew he might come in at any moment.

She came out herself. Evren had already cleared the table and set the tray, poured the coffee. His eyes swept over her from head to toe, and her breath caught under his gaze. For the first time they were simply having dinner in the bedroom, beginning their shared life.

He didn’t sit until she was settled in the chair opposite him. Bahar handed him a piece of bread, and he took it from her hand, sipping his coffee.

— It’s cold, — he said with dissatisfaction.

— Your fault, — she replied, savoring her own sip.

He almost smiled, and for a while they ate in silence. Evren set down his empty cup, ran a finger along the rim.

— Bahar, — he began quietly. She flinched, her cup clinking as she set it down. — We need to talk.

She froze, then slowly spread butter on a piece of bread.

— Bahar, I don’t want to pressure you, — Evren shook his head. — But you keep avoiding the subject. In my office I told you, that you…

— Evren, please, — she cut him off, the knife slipping from her hand and clattering onto the table. — You are pressuring me.

— And you are silent, — he said suddenly, rising, coming to her, kneeling before her.

She stared at him in confusion, not expecting this. She still clutched the bread with butter, unaware of what she was doing. His hands rested on her knees.

— Things are different with us, — his voice was quiet. — You’re not my patient, Bahar. You’re not her, you won’t end up in the ICU. We will be fine, but I need to know. I can’t live in peace if I’m not sure about your health. Please, trust me.

She looked into his eyes and saw the same terrible fear she herself felt — knowing that any decision would affect everyone.

— Evren, — she set the bread down on the saucer, — give me time, — she whispered. — I’m not ready yet. Give me time, Evren. Don’t force me to decide tonight.

— Bahar, — he squeezed her hand, — what if you’re already pregnant? I need to know you’re safe.

She closed her eyes, leaned down and embraced him, pressing against him. He wanted to say more, his lips parted, but she lifted her hand and gently covered his mouth.

— Shh, — she whispered, her cheek against his. — Please, Evren.

He froze, her hand warm over his lips, his breath quick against her fingers. He wrapped his arms around her waist, sat that way for several moments, then pressed a kiss to her palm. Bahar smiled through her tears, eyes still shut.

Silence fell over the room once again. Only their breathing could be heard, mingling with the fading aroma of cooling coffee…

***

He stepped out into the darkness. His footsteps echoed hollowly across the night terrace. Sert Kaya stopped by the parapet, his hands resting on the cold stone. For a few seconds he gazed at the lights of the city below, then slowly turned, his eyes fixing on the hospital windows.

— Well, Leyla… — a bitter smile touched his lips. — We never got to meet. You destroyed my family. You ran off to America, left me alone. Came back… and died.

His jaw tightened, muscles shifting beneath the skin.

— Now I’ll destroy your family. One by one. Not a single Yavuzoğlu will remain.

The moon briefly lit his figure before sliding behind a cloud, plunging the terrace back into darkness…